


Am I Out of My Head?

by Rayoislife



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, asylum 'verse, asylum versus asylum, emotionally constipated, rp pairing, will add more as this progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 05:39:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10757850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rayoislife/pseuds/Rayoislife
Summary: Caught between two worlds, Francis begins to fray just a bit. Desperate to get those hands on his body once more, he looks to the expert for help on how to win over a certain curly-haired nurse.





	Am I Out of My Head?

**Author's Note:**

> Asylum  
> {uh-sahy-luh m}
> 
> noun
> 
> 1\. an institution for the maintenance and care of the mentally ill, orphans, or other persons requiring specialized assistance.
> 
> 2\. an inviolable refuge, as formerly for criminals and debtors; sanctuary.

Frown lines marred Francis' youthful face as he went over his options. His companion shifted across from him and blue eyes met brown with a hint of mischief. Oh, how he enjoyed making his roommate squirm. Finally, he drew a blue plus four card and tossed it on top of the pile, smirking at his companion when he received a glare. "It was bound to happen eventually," he soothed the younger man. Uno could be such a cruel game. It was all in the strategy and generally, it was more fun with more than two people, but Commons was closed for the night and Francis enjoyed trying to get his roommate to open up.  Usually, on their more lucid days together, a few rounds of Uno would have his roommate willing to answer at least a few questions before they retired for the night. Tonight, however, seemed different as they were five rounds in with a split of three to two with Francis in the lead and so far, Jordan had remained stoically quiet. He'd been that way all day, more despondent than usual, especially when he seemed lucid. There was a haunted look in his eyes though and it was something that Francis was endlessly curious about. Watching the younger man patiently, Francis decided upon his next course of action. "Who was he?" Whatever stoicism that Jordan had forced upon himself seemed to crack at the question, only to be replaced firmly a moment later. 

"That's none of your business," Jordan spoke with a hoarse voice. He was still recovering from two nights ago when he had screamed until the nurses came in to sedate him and well after his voice was gone. The younger man set down his cards on the table, showing he was through with the farce and stood from his chair to walk to bed. There was little space to distance himself from his roommate though and Francis merely set down his cards as well, remaining seated with a frown. 

"You say his name sometimes. I don't know if you realize it or not." Francis knew exactly who the red haired visitor was with the big blue eyes. He had asked out of courtesy and had been giving Jordan a chance to talk instead of just listen for once. "You feel betrayed?" It was both a statement and a question when he could make out the tense lines of Jordan's body wind tighter. It was a valid question and Francis was sure he already knew the answer. Who wouldn't be betrayed? Someone who professed to love you and then signs you off as a loon to the hospital. Francis' mouth curled in anger as he thought about it. 

Jordan must have still been able to see him despite the distance and lack of decent lighting outside the moon's pale rays from above because he frowned at Francis' expression. "No, I... I told him to let me go. But he won't stop..." He clutched at his chest as if in physical pain over the situation and Francis' frown returned once more. 

Would Boswell ever do something similar? In the other timeline, when he'd been a zombie, clinging so desperately for each moment of clarity, he'd asked Boswell to do much the same. Let him go. Boswell had done so, though it had obviously caused them both a lot of grief. It was still odd being trapped between the two places. Alive in one, but unable to ascertain the one thing he wanted above all else. Dead in the other and left with the same sense of longing. Would Boz ever hang on to him like that? In a different life, maybe. One not surrounded by zombies and death or too much mental illness. But even then, would they have ever met? Their whole existence to one another in the other timeline, because Francis still had a hard time thinking that nothing had happened, had been built on a relationship that had caused the deaths of numerous people before the disease sprang up. 

"He comes by more than you know. Sometimes he stands outside the group sessions and watches through the window. Other times they have to call him to help sedate you. It's not just Valentine's Day." Somehow, Francis hoped that that helped. He knew that Jordan thought he was broken and undeserving. He could understand wanting someone to move on, hadn't he wanted the same for Boz in the other timeline...well, at some point anyways. But if there were ever a chance to keep the man in either timeline, Francis was just selfish enough to allow himself to do that. He wanted this to help Jordan realize he wasn't a lost cause. He wasn't broken and undeserving. Not if someone stuck around like that. He wasn't sure if his words helped or not because Jordan remained silent for an extremely long time. Long enough that his breathing evened out and he seemed to have dropped off into a deep sleep. 

"Just stop." 

The warning was clear as whispered as it was. Francis' frown grew and he felt anger flare when Jordan gave an irritable sigh before rolling over to face away from him. So, that's how this was. Jordan wanted to wallow in self-pity when all Francis wanted to do was help. Rolling his eyes, the older man started sorting the cards back into the box and left them in the center of the table before he stretched out of his own chair like a cat and wandered over to his bed. He sat on the edge and looked out towards the moon, closing his eyes as the rays shined over his face. How many nights like this had Boswell and he gotten together? The answer was simply too many to count. Or that's how it was or is in the other timeline. Here, he couldn't get Boswell to spare him more than a kind of sad, indulgent smile. It was absolutely infuriating. With a decisive exhale, Francis' blue eyes snapped back open. He was going to find Boswell and prove that the other timeline was or is real, too. Francis shot a glance at Jordan but found him to truly be in a deep slumber before he got off the bed that had been his for at least four years. He crept slowly to the door to inspect the lock. 

It wasn't a particularly difficult lock to pick. It had to be as simple as possible, easy in and out for both patient and staff safety in a place like this. It wouldn't prove to be much of a challenge to undo the lock if it weren't for the fact that the dinner trays had been taken already so there were no useful utensils and it wasn't like Francis had a key hidden somewhere on his person. Creases met between his brows as he thought. There would be no way to get out tonight, as much as he desperately wanted that. The freedom to roam and seek out his lover would have to wait another night. First, he had to figure how to get past this lock without the staff noticing missing utensils or other things, such as paperclips, that could help break down the nightly barrier that barred Francis from Boswell. Secondly, he'd have to figure a way to sneak around in areas with no cameras watching, which would be worse than trying to escape from prison. There were far too many cameras around that could see his every move. The only rooms not secured by cameras where the bathrooms, bedrooms, and he was pretty certain of a blind spot in the Commons. Francis stood back up from his stooped position on the cold floor and walked back over to his bed, sighing heavily before laying down. It may take more than just one night to get this entire thing worked out so that he wouldn't be found out and moved to solitary for wandering around after hours. It was better this way, though, he tried to convince himself as an ache settled in his chest for a brief moment. Better to be well planned than to just rush in. He had to be smart about this. Francis lay there on his cot, watching the moon for several hours before sleep finally stole him away from his thoughts. 

 

\------------  
"Francis?" 

OK, so maybe it had taken him more in the range of three months to get his wanted freedom, but that wasn't entirely his fault. Planning was hard when you were constantly tossed between two worlds with similar casts. Several times, the curly haired man had forgotten that he had actually not already stolen the paperclips he needed and tried to get out using just what was around him in his shared room, but the mess, not to mention the noise, it made to try using paper and his fingernails to get the door unlocked had not gotten him any brownie points with his roommate. And, yeah, his planning wasn't perfect, he'd forgotten the camera issue entirely by the time that he had everything sorted to unlock the door at night. Francis hunched his shoulders up to his ears in a wince as he turned around in the dimly lit hallway. He was relieved to find that it was Boswell as he had thought it was when he heard the man's whispered voice. The relief didn't last long because his eyes fell to Boswell's face and soaked in the disappointment there. A frown made its way across Francis' own face at the feeling of his stomach dropping out to his feet. What was that? He'd never felt something like that before. He had the insane urge to make an excuse as to why he was out of his room, but instead, he just stood there staring at the nurse as Boswell closed the gap between them slowly. 

"What are you doing out here? Come on, back in your room. How did you even get out of your room? Is Jordan out wandering around too? It's not safe." Boswell's voice never changed from the soft whisper it had been at first but the accusatory tone was plain to hear. It made the urge to come up with an excuse grow stronger. Maybe blame it on the new nurse who started just two weeks ago. It would make sense. Everyone makes mistakes. 

"No, I--Jordan is asleep. I just wanted to see you," Francis found his voice and shuffled back a little to keep some distance between them as much as he wanted so badly to stay as close as possible. Boswell wasn't the hands-on type of nurse like a lot of the other male nurses were, but even so, Francis had a fear that the man would choose now of all times to become one and man-handle him back into his room. "I talked to…well, you, I guess. The other night and he said the best way to approach you--or him or whatever--was head on." 

Even in the dark, Francis could read Boswell's discomfort with that statement and the pity that hid in those honey brown eyes. It was infuriating doing this every time they interacted. Dealing with the pity and the discomfort and the stupid, indulgent smiles. The need to make an excuse and get Boswell back on his side was replaced with the urge to punch the other man, a feeling he was quite familiar with. Grinding his teeth, Francis continued on. "It's true. You might not see it, but I do. I've seen it and lived it. I know that you have to feel something, damn it!" The last was a harsh whisper that should have probably been quieter. He took in a harsh breath and let it out slowly. "You are still you." 

A few emotions fluttered across Boswell's face then, but they were too fast and too complex for Francis to decipher at once. Finally, a blank look settled across Boz's face as he reached out to Francis, gently taking hold of his arm. "I'm really trying to help you here Francis, if they catch you out here then you'll be in solitary confinement. You don't want to go there again, do you? Let's get you back to bed."

A bone-deep tired feeling washed over Francis as he tensed in the grasp, but moved with Boswell anyways, watching the way the other man carefully avoided looking him in the face. He was tired of fighting this subject. He only ever had minimum contact with Boswell these days with the new nurses coming in from the local college and the ever-rotating shifts. The few times that they had chatted had been pleasant however and they'd gotten on just like they had before. As if nothing had changed, but Francis forgot that in here, everything had changed. Wearing the hospital issued pajamas and a bracelet that had all of his personal identifying markers on it, changed every year when his birthday came up, and the standard issue slippers to shuffle about in. This was a true asylum. While in the other timeline, with the other Boswell, he had a different type of asylum altogether. The kind that meant that you were safe. Even dead, he felt it. Here, he was locked away and unable to claim what was once his because here it had never existed. He felt himself on the verge of going over the details of a particularly good kill or asking about the others that Boz traveled with several times before when the nurse and he had sat down during an activity or when Boswell gave him a little more attention when it was time for medications to be dispensed. But that stuff wasn't here. There was no Italian restaurant job or cactus collections or jars of eyeballs or honeycombs being suckled on here. 

Francis blinked at his bedroom door when he realized that was what he was seeing and then turned again to face Boswell as he unlocked the door with a key. Boswell released his arm and finally looked him in the eye as the door opened up with a creak. "We need to schedule you a haircut," he said with a tentative smile. "You're starting to look like a frayed Q-tip."


End file.
